With a Broken Wing
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Formerly Zoey's Anatomy. He's an adrenaline junkie with a penchant for TLC matches. She's a resident surgeon with a disdain for professional athletes. Shennanigans ensue. JeffOC
1. Chapter 1

**Zoey's Anatomy**

**A/N: I got the idea for this story when I was watching Season 2 of Grey's Anatomy on dvd. The structure and the concept is pretty similar to the show, though it's not a blatant rip-off. When I started this, I had a couple of other stories going and I wasn't even going to post it, but in re-reading it tonight, I thought it made a decent OneShot. Hope you guys like it.**

**One more thing. . . This story is dedicated to Kim, aka _She Who Sparked My Interest in Grey's in the First Place. _Thank you, thank you, thank you, Chica.**

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_My father used to say that there is only one God. Only one God in charge of everything - our happiness, our comfort, our health, and our living and dying. And I used to believe that. I used to believe everything that my father said. Until he was the one on the operating table with an inoperable brain tumor. An inoperable brain tumor that a surgeon decided wasn't so inoperable after all. He saved my father's life on the day that changed everything. On the day that I realized that maybe my father was wrong, at least in part. Maybe there is only one God, but he sure as hell has a whole lot of help out there._

"Good morning, Dr. Hamilton."

"Look at you. All happy and stuff," Dr. Zoey Hamilton smirked. While Dr. Jeremiah Isaacs was the very best neurosurgeon Chicago's Methodist Hospital had to offer, with a bedside manner that could put any patient at ease, he wasn't exactly known to his colleagues as overtly friendly. "What's goin' on, Dr. Isaacs?"

Dropping a chart on the desk in front of her, Dr. Isaacs smiled cordially and patted her shoulder. "Oh, this isn't happy, Dr. Hamilton. This is just the face I put on when I'm so frustrated, I would like to cut a patient's IV line and pretend like I don't hear him screaming for help," he corrected. "Your patient," he pointed to the chart, "has asked for you every hour, on the hour, since ten o'clock last night."

Glancing up, she couldn't help but smile. She had known him for over twenty years. When her father had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, Dr. Isaacs was the angel who had operated. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty in making sure that her family understood the risks, but that they knew he would do everything in his power to save the man they all loved.

He was the reason she had entered the biology program at Northwestern. He was the reason she had applied to the University of Michigan Medical School. And he was the reason that she had chosen to do her internship, and her residency at Methodist.

"Did you explain to him that even doctors have to go home sometimes?" Zoey asked, looking over the chart she had come to know so well over the last three days as an amused smile danced over her lips.

Dr. Isaacs readjusted his glasses and shrugged. "Apparently, the company of my wrinkly, old ass is just not as pleasing to this guy as your young, nubile one," he said. When she gave him a surprised look, his amused smile returned. Patting her shoulder, he chuckled. "Sometimes, being so damn likable is a curse, I would imagine."

Shaking her head, Zoey tightened her ponytail and walked off in the direction of her neediest patient's room. He wasn't a bad guy. He was a patronizing frat boy who thought sexual innuendo was a suitable way to a woman's heart, but he was still immature. He would learn how to gracefully grow into that beautiful smile someday.

Though she wasn't stunning like a supermodel, at Methodist, she was Giselle. The majority of the staff was male, none of them McDreamy, and until she caught on to the knitting craze that seemed to be sweeping the halls, none of the women would be fitting friends, either.

Not that she had much time for friends these days anyway. How any doctor found time for a personal life, she would never know. But that's what she had signed up for, and it was the life that she was willing to take. She didn't need friends.

"How booked are you, Dr. Hamilton?"

Checking the beeping pager at her hip, Zoey looked up and smiled at Dr. Eliana Castro, the Chief of Surgery. Eliana was the epitome of style and grace, with the kindest eyes Zoey had ever seen. She also had a tendency to wear her stress on her sleeve, and at the moment, it was weighing her collar down. "I have a surgery at 12:30, but I can clear some time until then. What do you need?"

Sighing, Eliana handed her a chart and shook her head. "He's coming in for a consultation with Dr. Norton at 9:00, but Dr. Norton is on the golf course until noon. Can you run some preliminary tests and stall for some time until he gets back?"

With a quick glance at the file in her hands, Zoey shook her head and pouted her bottom lip. "An athlete, Dr. Castro? A professional athlete? Seriously?"

Eliana smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Zoey," she said, though she didn't really sound sorry at all. Virtually all doctors agreed that professional athletes were the worst patients. They were pampered, spoiled, and catered to by almost everyone in their sphere of influence. They were babies - multi-million dollar babies.

"Ugh," Zoey groaned, stomping her foot for effect.

"If it makes you feel any better," Eliana smiled, patting the young resident's shoulder, "he's only a professional athlete on a technicality. More like an actor, really."

When she was gone, Zoey took another look at the chart. _Professional wrestler?_ "I hate my job!"

"Dr. Hamilton," another voice rang out as she headed toward the elevator. She pressed the button without looking back. She knew the voice of her only female intern all to well. "Dr. Hamilton, there is a heart transplant surgery scheduled for two o'clock and I know that I'm not supposed to ask to be assigned to a particular attending," the young woman spoke without breathing, "but I would really, really love to be involved in this particular procedure."

As the elevator opened, Zoey turned to her and shook her head. "Carpenter," she started, readjusting the chart in her hand before running her fingers through her dark hair, "Are you going to pout all afternoon if you don't get your way?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Keisha Carpenter shrugged her shoulders. She was known for huffing and puffing when she didn't get assigned to the "good" cases. Interns were known for their extreme competitiveness, and most of the residents had no patience for the childish tantrums, but six months into the internship, Zoey was beginning to grow accustomed to it.

"I want to make something crystal clear, Carpenter," Zoey began, throwing an arm out to stop the elevator from closing. "Regardless of how many intensely complicated procedures you are allowed to scrub in on during your tenure here, and regardless of how steady your hand is, and how quick your instincts are, the whiny little tantrums are going to keep you from being a great surgeon. If you can't learn to suck it up and act like a professional, you might as well quit the program now." Releasing the door, she nodded her head. "Dr. Isaacs will begin the transplant in about twenty minutes - you better go scrub in if you're going to help."

After making the rounds with her patients and making a few assignments for her interns, Zoey headed toward the nurse's station. She'd only been at work for three hours and her feet were already killing her. She checked her watch, feeling her heart drop when she realized that it was time for the nine o'clock consultation. _Oh, this day is never going to get better._

"Is Dr. Norton's nine o'clock here yet?" she asked the nurse on duty.

The young man behind the counter nodded. "Been here for about thirty minutes - in room 12," he pointed down the hall.

"You a professional wrestling fan, Jake?" Zoey asked, glancing over the chart that Jake handed her. When the nurse shrugged, she turned up her nose. "So you don't know what a TLC match is?"

Jake huffed and smiled slightly. "Tables, Ladders, and Chairs," he informed the doctor, who only shook her head and muttered something about "stupid muscle heads" as she walked away.

Pushing the door of the room open, Zoey was surprised to find five men standing around the bed, all talking to the man in the bed at once. She took a moment to watch them, finding herself incredibly amused by the irritated look of frustration on the patient's face. T_hat is one beautiful face_, she thought to herself. _Though I could do without the braids. The purple braids. But still. . . the face is beautiful. _

"Um, guys," the patient held up a hand to get the attention of everyone at his side. Inclining his head toward the door, he gave a half-smile and waited for them to notice the visitor among them.

Clearing her throat and shaking her head of the inappropriate thoughts that had just gone racing through, Zoey stepped forward. "Good morning, gentlemen," she greeted. "Dr. Norton was detained, so I'm going to do some preliminary tests until he gets here."

"And you are?" one of the men beside the bed asked. He was well over six feet tall and graying on the sides of his head. The polo shirt that he wore stretched over his broad chest and shoulders, the look on his face adding to the stern, intimidating air he carried.

But he wasn't the one making her bumble like an idiotic school girl. He wasn't the one with the warm eyes and the sweet smile, waiting expectantly to hear her name. That honor went to the young man in the bed, cringing as he tried to sit up.

The look of pain brought her back to a clear head space as Zoey shook her head and moved to the foot of the bed. "I'm Dr. Hamilton," she introduced. "Gentlemen," she turned to the five at his sides. "Can I get a minute with Mr. Hardy?"

When the room was cleared, Jeff Hardy smiled at the doctor who was checking his monitors. "Everything cool, Doctor?" he asked, his soft, Southern drawl steady as he watched her move around his bed.

_And he's fuckin' Southern, too? Great. Just fucking great._ With a forced smile, Zoey tried to look at everything but his face. Those hazel eyes were just too distracting, even for a consummate professional. "So, you wanna tell me what happened to this knee, Mr. Hardy?" she asked, sinking to a stool beside the bed before she pulled the hem of his hospital gown back.

He hissed another gust of air as she began to press the swollen tissue around his knee cap. "Call me Jeff," he said through clenched teeth. "And I'm not sure when it happened exactly," he answered when she finally stopped touching him and began to make notations on her clip board.

Zoey raised an eyebrow. "You don't know exactly?" she asked skeptically. If there was one thing she hated more than anything else about her profession, it was patients who lied about the extent of their pain or discomfort. "Ya know, Mister," she stopped and shook her head, smiling slightly, "Jeff," she corrected herself, "this whole thing will go a whole lot smoother if you can give me as much information as possible."

Jeff gave a small smile and shrugged. "I know it was in the course of the match. I jumped off of so many ladders, crashed through so many tables, and took so many chair shots, that I really don't know exactly when the knee thing happened." With an apologetic expression, he sank back against the pillows and looked at the ceiling. "When I'm in the ring, I don't notice. I never notice the pain until I get backstage and the adrenaline wears off," he explained. "That's when the swelling started."

She thought about what he had just told her. _So many ladders. So many tables. So many chairs. Does this guy even hear himself speaking? Does he have idea what he's putting his body through?_ "We're going to do an MRI, figure out the extent of the damage, but I would venture a guess that something is probably torn," she said, pushing back from the bedside, afraid of what she might say if she stayed too close. "We'll wait until Dr. Norton gets back to do the MRI, since you're technically his patient and all," she smiled, knowing that there was a slight blush in her cheeks. _Now I'm fucking blushing. What the hell is wrong with me?_

"You think I'm nuts, right?" Jeff asked as Zoey approached the door. When she turned, shook her head, and pushed her hair behind her ear, he licked his lips and sat up slightly. "What kind of brain dead moron gets smacked in the back of the head with a steel chair, causing him to free fall from a twelve-foot ladder, crashing through three wooden tables?" When she shrugged, he smiled good-naturedly. "In case you were wondering, I know it's not rational. I just," he stopped and closed his eyes as the pain shot through his leg again. "I just know that it makes me feel alive."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Zoey looked him over. There was no ring on his finger, not that she should be checking. "Kinda like operating on morons who leap off of twelve-foot ladders and crash through wooden tables makes me feel alive?"

His grin spread into a wide smile and he chuckled to himself with a nod. "Guess we need each other then, huh?"

The flirtation was slight, but it wasn't lost on Zoey. It was inappropriate, but she couldn't stop the tingling sensation that was spreading through her gut as she exited the room and let Jeff's handlers back in. The fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn't foreign - she'd had crushes before. But not for a long time. And never on a patient.

_He's Dr. Norton's problem now. You've done all you were required to do. Now you can just put him behind you and go on with your shift._

"Dr. Hamilton!"

Turning immediately, Zoey groaned slightly. "What is it now, Dr. Castro?" she asked the Chief, who slowed her step when she had fallen in line with her lead resident.

"Dr. Norton was called away on a family emergency," she stated. "Can you proceed with his patient until further notice?"

_That's just fucking great! _Though she nodded dutifully and forced a smile, Zoey's heart sank at the prospect of spending any more time with Jeff Hardy, the man who was already turning her insides to mush.

_That one God that takes care of everything? He's got a really strange sense of humor, I think. I know my calling in life, but I wouldn't have if my father hadn't gotten sick. I found the love of my life, but it means never having the time to become romantically involved with another human being. Even if that other human being is strikingly handsome, with the sweetest Southern drawl on the planet. Sometimes it's not as ducky as it seems, being one of God's special helpers. But I have to believe that there's going to be a reward in my future somewhere. Hopefully, that reward has purple hair and some torn knee cartilage. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Zoey's Anatomy**

**A/N: So I wasn't going to make this a full story, but y'all asked so nicely that I decided to turn this one into a short story. I'm thinking it probably won't be more than five chapters, but I hope you enjoy it!**

**This chapter is long, and I'm not promising that there are no errors - I was watching maybe the greatest Royal Rumble match EVER while I was editing. Anyway - I know that's no excuse, but if you find glaring problems, blame it on my infatuation with the Undertaker. Anywho - as always ENJOY!**

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_Until I was seven years old, I thought my grandmother was the most brilliant woman I had ever met. And then I fell off of my bike in her driveway and skinned both of my knees. When I begged her to make it stop stinging, she told me that pain wasn't necessarily always a bad thing. Sometimes it was just the body's way of letting us know that something was wrong. And that's when I decided she wasn't as smart as I thought she was. There was plenty of blood and gravel sticking out of my knees to tell me something was wrong. I didn't need pain. Nobody ever **needs **pain. There are always other signs that something isn't right. You just have to learn how to identify them._

"Dr. Hamilton?"

The voice drew a soft groan from the doctor as she turned and stamped a bright smile on her lips. Her shift was only half over and she was ready to write it off as a bad day. Her patients were being difficult, her interns seemed to be forgetting everything they had learned in medical school, and her attendings were PMS'ing big time.

The only bright spot in the day had been Jeff Hardy. Not only was he cute, but he was perfect to work with. A true Southern gentlemen, he had willingly cooperated with eveyrthing she had asked of him and sailed through his MRI without complications. Yet, she found herself avoiding that particular section of the hall as much as possible. While Jeff had been a dream, his insistent entourage of handlers seem to think Zoey was their personal concierge.

"Can I help you?" she asked the young man who had finally caught up to him. She had seen him enter the Hardy room earlier, and really wasn't in the mood to make a coffee run or show him the best place to get cell reception.

Nervously, the young man tugged at his dark ponytail and licked his lips, as if gathering the courage to ask whatever was on his mind. "Are you going to be able to fix Jeff's knee?"

With a tired shrug, she looked at her watch and considered the fact that she needed to visit a few more patients before she could stop for dinner. "We're going to do everything we can," she assured the man. "I'll be in to speak with Mr. Hardy in about an hour. I should have the results of his MRI by then," she nodded, remaining as cordial as possible.

"You have to fix this." The man said, his voice twisted in deep concern.

She nodded, her frustration fading into compassion. "We will, mister," she paused, realizing she still had no idea who this man was. "Um," she stammered.

"Hardy," he filled in. "Matt," he added, offering his hand to the doctor. "I'm Jeff's older brother."

Turning her head to the side, she considered the man standing before her. "Really?" she asked, her nose scrunched as she sought out some sort of family resemblance. "I don't see it," she smiled, touching his arm softly. "Listen, Mr. Hardy, you don't have to worry about your brother, okay? He's in good hands here. Dr. Kim is an excellent surgeon," she spoke of the attending Thorasic specialist on staff.

"Do you have any idea how long he'll be out?" Matt asked, still biting his lip as though he was embarrassed to be issuing his line of questioning.

The pager at her hip went off, and Zoey nodded in the direction of the nurse's station, a gesture that encouraged Matt to follow her. "Out of action?" He nodded. "I won't know that for sure until I look at the MRI. The rehabilitation time will really depend on the muscle, and the extent of the injury." They reached the nurse's station and Zoey gave him another re-assuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, Mr. Hardy. We'll take the best care of him that we possibly can and your brother will be back on his feet in no time." With a wink, she accepted the folder from the nurse and looked it over. "Would you like to be there when I tell him what we're looking at here?"

Laughter eminated from inside the room as Zoey and Matt approached. Though inexplicable, Zoey found herself more-than-a-little perturbed at the sight before her. "Dr. Carpenter?" she spoke, the firm question evident in her voice.

Turning sheepishly, Keisha cleared her throat and stood from her seat on the edge of Jeff's bed. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hamilton," she apologized, tucking her long, dark braids behind her ears. "I heard that Jeff Hardy was brought in this morning, and since I had a few free minutes," she blushed again and smiled at Jeff, who only winked at the young woman. "I've been a fan for a long time," she added.

Zoey rolled her eyes and handed a thick chart to her intern. "Well, if you're going to be in here, you might as well make yourself useful," she said, unwilling to acknowledge the slight jealousy that had risen in her chest when Jeff winked at Keisha. _What the hell is wrong with me? _she thought as she moved to the wall and began to hang the prints from the MRI. "Do you need the rest of your people here for this?" she asked Jeff with a sarcastic smile.

Jeff looked to his brother at his side and then shook his head and shot Zoey a knowing smile. "I got all the people I need," he answered, crossing his arms and focusing his eyes on the pictures before him. "That doesn't look good," he said flatly.

Clearing her throat, Zoey shook her head and stepped to the side, allowing him an unobstructed view. "It's not as bad as it could be," she said with a sigh, pointing to the first picture. "You have a torn Meniscus. Dr. Carpenter?" she turned to the eager intern.

Though normally fully focused on impressing her residents and attendings, Keisha seemed lost in a world of her own. When Zoey stated her name again, the young woman giggled and cleared her throat, returning her attention to the MRI results. "Oh," she smiled brightly. "Um, it appears to be a pretty clean tear," she said, "and it also appears to be in a vascular area of the muscle, so a Miniscectomy would be possible. However," she added, her attention no longer wavering from her resident, "considering the high risk nature of the patient's professional lifestyle, I believe that a Meniscus Repair would be more beneficial to the long-term health of the muscle." She smiled proudly as she finished her diagnosis.

Zoey nodded and wrapped her arms around the chart she was holding. Raising it to her chest, she smiled at the patient, who was staring rather blankly at the pictures. "You want it in English now, right?" He gave a shy shrug and Zoey coudln't help but giggle. "Alright, here's the deal - you basically have a severe case of torn cartilage. Doesn't sound like a major deal, but your cartilage serves as a shock absorber for the joint in your knee. There are basically three things we can do for you.

"The first is to tell you to stay off of it for a couple of weeks, recommend that your trainers jack you full of cortizone, and you can play through the pain," she suggested, watching his eyebrow shoot up in interest. "But it will be painful, and I can promise you that the damage will just get worse with time."

"But he wouldn't have to have surgery?" Matt asked, his voice piqued with curiosity.

Jeff shot him a strange look, but Zoey chose to ignore it as she went on. "With the Meniscectomy, we would go in and remove the torn section of the meniscus."

"You can just take it out?" Jeff interrupted, his lazy drawl growing a touch slower. He was getting tired, and Zoey knew that he was in no real position to make this kind of a decision.

She smiled warmly, a tiny flutter in her tummy when he returned the look. _Control yourself, Doctor_, she chastised with the soft clearing of her throat. "We can. But we also take away part of your shock absorbancy that way, so there's an increased chance of further damaging your bones in the future. You'll basically put more of a burden on the joint itself and there's a pretty good chance you'll develop some pretty painful arthritis in that leg in the not-so-distant future.

"Unless you want to to make a few subtle lifestyle changes," she winked. "Low-impact exercises only, and avoiding any activity that would put you at risk for further trauma to the knee." When he rolled his eyes, she nodded. "That's what I thought."

"You're young enough," Keisha jumped in, "that a repair would be your best chance of restoring the knee to its natural state. It's the best way to ensure you're still doing the Swanton for another five or ten years," she added with a proud blush, as though she was trying to prove that she was really a fan.

Jeff cleared his throat and did his best to flex his leg. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't impossible. "How long would I be out if you just took this motherfucker out?" he asked with a grunt.

Zoey gave Keisha a nod of permission as she watched Jeff carefully. She wouldn't be surprised in the least if he said that he just wanted to live with the pain. Guys in his position rarely ever admitted that they couldn't. Her own 47-year-old uncle had walked with the assistance of a cane for nearly fifteen years thanks to a strenuous job and his inability to admit that playing through the pain wasn't the best way to go. And for some reason, she really didn't want to see that happen to this kid with so much time ahead of him.

". . . so with that one, you'd be out a month or two," Keisha was explaining when Zoey finally reminded herself to check back in on the conversation. "With the repair, the down time would be closer to three or four months." She bit her lip and rocked nervously on her heels, as though she knew he would never accept the best case scenario once he knew how much time it would cost him.

"That's not an option," Matt spoke firmly, shaking his head and staring at his brother's knee while he contemplated what they had been told.

Jeff glanced up at his brother, his eyes pleading with the older man. For what, Zoey couldn't be sure. "What would you do?" he asked the man at his side.

Clearing his throat, Matt shook his head. "I spent eight months out of the ring, Jeff, and it cost me my job. If I were you, I'd get back in there as soon as I possibly could," he said without hesitation.

It was obvious, if to no one but the doctor, that Jeff was heavily influenced by his older brother's opinion. But she couldn't, in good conscience, let him make a decision based on someone else's hang ups. "I know it's a lot to think about, Jeff," she stated softly, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his healthy leg. When he turned his hazel eyes to her, she found herself growing short of breath. "I think the best thing for you to do is get a couple hours of sleep and then make the decision when you're feeling a little more rested," she advised, nodding at Keisha to do a final check of his vitals and get back to her other patients.

He sighed and leaned his head back, his eyes drifting shut as he sighed. "Yeah," he agreed in a soft hiss.

_Oh, stop it!_ Zoey scolded herself as the sight stirred something lower than her gut. The soft sounds he made, and the flutter of his eyelashes over his cheeks was too reminiscent of what she imagined he would do with her on top of him. And that just wasn't something she needed to be thinking. Ever. Especially about a patient.

She followed Keisha from the room, hoping to God that the blush in her cheeks wasn't as evident as it felt. Though she'd never been tempted to relieve her own personal tension, so to speak, at work, she was finding the desire pushing into every corner of her brain at the moment. He was so subtle. Not even trying to get her temperature up, but that's exactly what he had succeded in doing. She was walking on pins every time she stepped into that room and it was starting to get ridiculous. _I wonder where Dr. Gellar is. I bet he'd give me a romp in the supply closet. _

She shuddered and put that thought behind her immediately. The last thing she needed was a case of crabs from the most promiscuous man she had ever met. Or worse. _He'll be gone in a few days, at the most. You can get through a couple of days. Hell, you've gotten through the last three years without it._

"Dr. Hamilton," Matt's voice echoed in the hallway, causing the young doctor to turn. "I know that you're trying to make Jeff think about the long-term or whatever. And that's real admirable of you, but he needs to be back in the ring as soon as possible," he insisted.

Shifting her weight from one hip to the other, Zoey crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at the young man. "Is there something about your brother that I should know, Mr. Hardy?"

Matt cleared his throat and twisted his fingers together. "Look, he hasn't exactly had the easiest time these last few years, but he's finally getting back on track. He's in the middle of a huge come back and if he takes some time out, if he doesn't have the travelling and the schedule, I'm just afraid that," he started.

"That he'll go back to collecting fiberglass mannequins and making duct tape art?" a deep voice interrupted their conversation.

Zoey turned to see a handsome man with shoulder-length curls approaching them. He wore jeans and a tee shirt, capped by a leather Harley jacket, along with a cocky-ass smirk. She wasn't sure if she found the smile more repulsive or attractive. There was definitely something about his swagger. _God damn, I need to get laid._

"What the hell are you doing here, Adam?" Matt asked through gritted teeth.

"Or maybe you're just concerned that you're going to slip back into oblivion without little brother there to pull you out of the dark matches," Adam Copeland added, chuckling a bit at Matt's reaction before extending his hand to the attractive doctor. "I'm Adam. An old friend of the family."

Even as Zoey took his hand, she could tell that these men were not friends. She might not have a lot of them herself, but she knew that friends didn't shoot the daggers at one another that Matt was shooting at Adam. "Jeff's resting," she started to inform him.

But Matt wasn't done talking. "I'm only going to tell you this once, Adam. Get the hell out of here, and don't come back."

"Or what?" Adam smirked again, shoving his hands deep into his pocket and resting comfortable against the wall behind him. "You'll post another blog? " he spat.

"Alright," Zoey held up a hand. "That is enough. This is a hallway, gentlemen," she informed. "You wanna have a pissing contest, I suggest you take it to the restroom. Or go outside and punch each other for awhile," she rolled her eyes. "Hell, you can go into the waiting room and trade all the snarky comments you want," she added. "But I don't want either of you fucking with Jeff's sleep for the next two hours. And if I catch either one of you in there, I will NOT post a blog," she aimed her comment at Adam. "Remember that I know how to use a scalpel."

As she stalked off, Adam watched her hips sway while biting his lower lip and shaking his head. "Hell, maybe I should injure myself. Cause having her looking after me? Not a horrifying concept."

With nothing more than a disgusted sigh, Matt shook his head and stalked off. Checking his right, and then his left, Adam pushed the door of Jeff's room open and smiled at the young man in the bed. "You sleepin'?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Jeff's eyes drifted open slowly and a smile stretched across his lips. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Adam dropped into the chair at the end of the bed and crossed his left ankle over his right knee. "Had some interviews to do. I'm on my way to the airport, but I thought I'd stop in and see what the diagnosis was," he said, relaxing his shoulders and picking at the hem of his pants.

Jeff shrugged and explained what the doctor had just told him about his knee. Though Matt would never understand, Jeff just couldn't find it in himself to hate Adam anymore. They had been friends for a long time, and while he didn't excuse the affair he'd had with Matt's girlfriend, he also found that hanging on to it wasn't going to help anything. And since returning to Monday Night Raw, and travelling with Adam like they always had in the past, he couldn't stay mad. It was a dead issue, one that never really had anything to do with him in the first place.

"Wow," Adam nodded slowly when Jeff had laid out all of his options. "You leanin' toward anything specifically?"

Jeff reached for the glass of water at his bedside and took a drink before hoisting himself into a seated position. "Matt says I should just work through it," he started and then stopped when Adam huffed. "I get where he's comin' from, ya know? I mean, he was out for a few months and lost his job."

But Adam interrupted with the raise of a finger. "Dude, I was out for fourteen months and I've been Champion twice since I got back. And I don't care what your brother says, his mouth got him fired, not his knee injury," he reminded. "High risk is your bread and butter, man. If you want my opinion, you're risking more by not getting it fixed now."

Just as he had seen Matt's side of the argument, he could see Adam's as well. And Jeff was just as confused as he had been all day. "I don't know, man. I just don't know," he whispered, running his hair over his head.

Adam sat in his place, quietly considering the young man in front of him. Jeff didn't say much, but he had learned that his silence didn't equate stupidity. He was a constant array of thoughts, some which would scare most of the human race. "What's the real problem?" When Jeff looked at him blankly, Adam smiled. "Dude, you may think you're this crazy enigma, but you don't hide 'scared shitless' very well."

Though there was something more to his decision, Jeff wasn't sure he wanted to say the words out loud. He was afraid of being the guy that was still lurking under the surface, fighting to get out on a daily basis. He was still struggling with demons from the past, and he wasn't ready to face them without the distractions of the road. Everything that Matt worried about, Jeff had already thought of, twice as often.

"I need to be out there. I can't go back and spend all of that time alone in the house again," he admitted, shaking his head. "I'm not ready," he admitted for the first time out loud.

Adam shook his head and put both feet on the floor, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. "So don't," he advised, looking up through thick lashes. "They have a rehab center right next door," he pointed over his shoulder. "Have your surgery and do your rehab here."

Jeff sighed. It was possible, he knew, but there were still obstacles. "I have to go to my meetings at least once a week," he pointed out. Admitting that he had a drug problem had been difficult, but getting into an out-patient rehab program, and attending weekly support meetings had been his lifeline. He knew that he wasn't ready to sacrifice them. Not yet.

"You are in one of the largest cities in the country, Jeff. I think they can find you a few meetings to attend," Adam countered. With a wide smile, he turned his head to the side. "How many more excuses are you gonna make for what you know you should do? Cause I don't have a lot of time here," he winked, checking his watch and standing from the chair.

Jeff hung his head and couldn't fight the smile. "Thanks for stoppin' by, man," he finally said when Adam reached his bedside and offered a hand.

The two shared a handshake and a man-hug when they heard a throat clear at the door. "I could have sworn I told you to stay out of this room," Zoey said, her arms crossed as she watched them curiously.

Taking a step back, Adam put his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor like a scolded child. Jeff held a hand up to keep Zoey from doing anything rash, though it was highly unlikely that she would be able to do anything at all to the man at his side. "He's a friend, Dr. Hamilton," he assured her.

Zoey smiled in his direction and pushed off of the door frame. "Friend or not, you really do need to get some rest," she told Jeff, checking the pager on her hip. "Plus," she added, looking over her shoulder for effect, "I saw your brother down in the cafeteria," she winked at both men while taking Jeff's arm and resting her thumb on his wrist. "I'm sure he'll be back up pretty soon."

Adam took the hint and nodded. "I was just headed out anyway." With another hand shake, Adam turned for the door. "I'll see you soon, man," he waved, stopping at the door to make eye contact with his friend over the doctor's head. Pointing to Zoey's back, he mouthed 'If you don't make a move, I will.'

Noting the smile on Jeff's face, Zoey just shook her head. There was no telling what Adam had said, but from the slight blush in her patient's cheeks said it was probably about her. For some reason, that made her own cheeks turn pink in response. When their eyes met, she swallowed hard and fought urge to check her own pulse.

When Zoey took a step back, Jeff held her gaze and made his decision. "I want you to fix my knee," he whispered.

She nodded and licked her lips, feeling a jolt of electricity more intense than any other he had sent through her body. "You sure about that?"

But Jeff had no doubts. Adam had been right - he needed to fix the problem before it got worse. "The last time I wrestled, I made some stupid choices and cut my career way shorter than I should have. I don't wanna do that again."

_So maybe we **do **need the pain sometimes. Maybe it's the only thing that reminds us that we are not immortal, that we can be broken. And maybe the key is not to eliminate the pain, but to embrace it. None of us wants to be reminded of our shortcomings, our failures, our missteps. None of us wants look back at the score card of our lives and see more defeats than victories. But I guess that, while winning feels good for the moment, it's losing that teaches us to be better people, builds our character and shows us just how strong we can really be. And sometimes, when you least expect it, something beautiful just might rise from the ashes of the agony._


	3. Chapter 3

**Zoey's Anatomy**

_Professional athletes, by nature, are incredibly superstitious. Some insist on wearing the same socks, underwear, or wrist bands for every game. Others won't step on the court, or field, until they've listened to their favorite song, or talked to their mothers. Still, some believe that growing the hair on their head, or face, contributes in some way to their success. Ironically, surgeons aren't that different. We depend on our own scrub caps and scalpels. We drink the same coffee, from the same coffee cart, before each surgery. We say the same prayers, or repeat the same mantras time, and time again. _

_At the most basic level, these acts are ludicrous. But in a world dominated by variables, where nearly everything is out of your own control, clinging to the little things provides stability. When it comes right down to it, isn't that what we all want? _

Though she knew it was crazy, Zoey couldn't keep herself from staring at the way Jeff's violet hair swept over his eyes as he slept off the anesthesia from his surgery. Though she had been fully focused during the ninety minute procedure, she couldn't deny that something had shot through her gut when she placed her hands on his hard thigh for the first time. There was just something magnetic about Jeff Hardy.

Walking around the foot of the bed, she checked the monitors humming gently at his sides. Everything seemed to be in order. Starting for the door, she heard a soft grunt, and a hiss of breath. When she turned, Zoey saw Jeff's eyes blinking against the dim lighting while he struggled to sit.

"Hey," she whispered, rushing to him and helping him before he hurt himself further. "You're not supposed to be sitting up," she added.

Jeff looked to his left, unsure of where he was. "Huh?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can't lay down anymore," he grumbled, moving his hips until he found a comfortable position. "Hey," he finally smiled when he realized who was helping him.

Pushing her hair behind her ears, Zoey took a step back and returned the smile. "Hey, tough guy."

Groaning again, Jeff rested his head against the pillows. "Was it horrible? Was I a baby when I went under?"

She laughed at the crinkled look of concern on his face. "You were good," she nodded reassuringly. "In fact, everything was textbook. As long as we don't see any infection in the next couple of days, you should be able to head home by the end of the week. Start your rehab and be back in the ring in no time," she promised.

But Jeff's worry lines only grew deeper. "I'm not going home," he whispered., licking his dry lips.

Without a second thought, Zoey grabbed the cup of ice chips at his side and handed them to her patient. "I hate to say it," she answered, brushing his hair away from his eyes as he lazily chewed the ice in the cup, "but I don't think I can keep you here forever, kid."

Raising his gaze to her face, Jeff swallowed the ice in his throat and shook his head. He really didn't care if he ever left, as long as she was touching him like that. "No," he corrected. "I'm doin' my rehab next door," he told her.

Though she wasn't sure why, Zoey felt her heart pound in her chest. He was staying close by? Like within walking distance? _Oh, this can't be good_. With a smile plastered on her lips, she checked the chart at the end of his bed again. "Well, I'll call them tomorrow then. Make sure they're ready for you at the end of the week."

Jeff nodded, his eyes locked steadily on the young woman standing before him. He wondered, just for a moment, if she had any idea how stunning she was in her blue jeans and tan sweater. Seeing her out of her scrubs was having a profound effect on his psyche. Or his surgery drugs hadn't worn off yet.

"Hey, Jeff," Keisha announced, bouncing around the corner with a sheet of paper in her hands. "I got the numbers that you wanted." Stopping short when she saw Zoey, Keisha lowered her eyes nervously and gave a little giggle. "Dr. Hamilton," she greeted softly.

"Dr. Carpenter," Zoey nodded slowly, the jealousy beginning to simmer under the surface of her emotions. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Keisha nodded and quickly waved good-bye to Jeff before scurrying into the hall. Crossing her arms over her chest, Zoey levelled Jeff with a stern gaze. "You need to get some more rest. I'll come by and check on you tomorrow afternoon."

Why she was taking her jealousy out on Jeff, she had no idea. It wasn't his fault that her intern was giggling like a school girl around him, but it bothered her nonetheless. And she had every intention of letting Keisha know that.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked when the door clicked behind them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes. "You have walked around like a kid with a crush since the day he was admitted, Carpenter. You know better. You know better than to get involved with a patient, right?"

Raising her left eyebrow, Keisha's firey side shown through her dark, mocha eyes. "Do you?" she asked, crossing her own arms to mimick her resident's stance. When Zoey began to speak, Keisha shrugged and tucked her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "All I'm sayin' is that I'm not the one goin' in there after I clock out. And mine wasn't the name he was moaning when he came out of anesthesia," she pointed out.

"Carpenter," Zoey warned.

"I'm just sayin'," Keisha defended, walking past Zoey and on to her other rounds.

Staring stoically at the floor, Zoey shook her head and rolled her shoulders. Keisha was right. She was getting too close. She already cared way too much about this particular patient, and it was going to lead to nothing but trouble in the very near future.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from returing to the room one last time. Just to make sure he didn't need anything else. "I'm gettin' ready to head out," she announced, caught off guard by the twinkle of his hazel eyes at her return. "Did you need anything else before I go?"

"Don't you have flunkies for this kinda thing?" Jeff asked, muting the television above his bed when she approached his monitors again. He knew full-well she didn't need to check them every ten minutes, but he couldn't say that he minded. "Can I ask you a question?"

Zoey nodded, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Her reasons for being there had to be transparent. And if she didn't get out fast, there was no doubt Keisha would return and she would never hear the end of it. "Of course."

Hesitating for a moment, Jeff wondered how she would react to his confession. But if he had learned anything in the past year, it was that fear of perception was his greatest enemy. "I know I'm not going to be getting out of bed any time soon, but I need to get somewhere within the next few days," he started, swallowing the nerves that kept creeping up in his throat. "A meeting."

His drug issues were well-documented in his chart, but the blush in his cheeks told her that he didn't know that. Clearing her throat, she decided to let him tell her what he was ready for her to know. "Business?" she asked.

Jeff shook his head and licked his lips, swallowing another piece of ice. His family knew about his problem. Everyone he worked with knew. Hell, most of his fans knew, whether they chose to believe it or not. So why was it so hard to admit it to his doctor? "No," he shook his head. "It's a drug rehab support group," he began to explain. "I'm a recovering user."

Zoey nodded and leaned against the foot of the bed, her hands tucked casually in the pockets of her jeans. "Well," she started, tilting her head to consider him for a moment, "I can probably find a counselor to come in and talk to you tomorrow." Studying the concerned lines of his face, her heart melted. "But if you want a group meeting, you're gonna have to give me a few days to put something together."

"I don't want you to have to go to any special trouble," he started, but she shook her head, as if assuring him that she didn't mind. "It would mean a lot to me."

Tapping the foot of his bed, Zoey gave a shrug and then smiled. "It's no trouble," she promised. "Now get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow."

Her hand was on the door knob when she heard him clear his throat again. "Zoey?" It was the first time he had said her first name, the first time he had called her anything but Dr. Hamilton. She turned her head, raising an eyebrow. "The whole doctor/patient fratranization thing is pretty strict, huh?"

Zoey felt her heart rate double in her chest as she pulled the door open. "Yeah, it is," she answered, effectively shooting down any chance at further fostering a relationship with the young man.

Unfortunately, Jeff had never been known for following rules. "But when I'm released. . . when I go over to the rehab place . . . I'm not really your patient anymore, am I?" When Zoey's cheeks flushed a bright red, he chuckled slightly. "So are you gonna come over and visit me?"

With a knowing smirk, Zoey returned her hand to the door. "Why don't you ask me again when the drugs wear off," she winked, exiting before he could respond.

Jeff Hardy was crazy, as far as she could tell. Anyone who jumped off of cages and ladders for fun was out of his mind. But Zoey couldn't deny there was something charming about the fearless aura that surrounded him. She couldn't deny it, but she didn't have to succumb to it. Even if he wasn't her patient, she didn't have the time to pursue a relationship with him, or anyone else. It was better if she just spent the next eighteen hours thinking of a way to let him down easy.

_The realization that we are losing control of our own life is a horrible feeling. Knowing that there is nothing we can do to stop it is even worse. We grasp, claw, and clutch anything that will restore the balance, even if it's a ridiculous superstition. In our heads, and even in our guts, we know it's only a quick fix, a band aid for a bullet hole. But our hearts can't seem to release the one thing that fills every empty space in our souls: hope_.


	4. Chapter 4

**With a Broken Wing**

A/N: So it's been awhile, huh? Yeah, my inspiration for this ran dry, and then, lo and behold, just like the first time around, a marathon of Grey's Anatomy on dvd brought me right back to the head space that I needed to be in to pound out another chapter. This story was only ever intended to be five chapters, so if I can keep this up, there might be the final chapter soon. And since it's been awhile, this chapter is extra-long for ya. Really it's just because I couldn't get Jeff to shut up long enough to end the chapter, but we'll say it's because it's been awhile. So, without further ado, Enjoy!

* * *

_Rebellion is a thread woven into the tapestry of our most basic, human nature. Our gut instinct longs for the freedom to make our own choices, to set our own path. As children, we learn to hide it, because a punishment from our parents isn't quite enough of a deterent to doing whatever the hell we want. As teenagers, we quit trying to hide anything at all, and aren't really expected to do what we're told anyway. But as adults, we have to make a decision: Follow the rules, or go our own way. Work within the system, or buck it in favor of what we think we know is best._

_The decision to become a surgeon is the last decision that some of us make on our own. We do so fully understanding that we have a very limited free will. Rebellion is out of the question. If we don't do as we're told, as we're taught, people end up paralyzed, disfigured, or dead. We don't have choices. We have rules. And we have to follow the rules. No matter what._

"Dr. Hamilton!"

Releasing her hair from it's sloppy ponytail, Zoey turned and ran her fingers through her sandy locks, shaking free the tension headache that was beginning to form where the band had been for the last twenty-six hours. "What can I do for you, Dr. Carpenter?" It had been a long week, and she had been stuck covering for several of the other residents for one reason or another. All Zoey wanted was a long soak in a hot bath. It was the only thing that brought a hint of a smile to her face.

"Okay," the young intern took a dramatic breath. "You have to promise not to put me on scut for the rest of the week if I tell you this," she bargained, her full bottom lip between her perfectly white teeth as she turned wide, doe eyes on her superior.

Zoey couldn't help rolling her eyes. "I'm not Dr. Sharp, Carpenter," she huffed, pulling her keys from the bottom of her messenger bag as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her denim jacket. "I don't think with a penis and bedroom eyes do not work on me," she added with a glare as she dug her hair from the neckline of her jacket, feeling it swoosh across her shoulders with a heavy thud. "Spit it out so I can get home."

With her fingers twisted somewhat nervously, Keisha looked around the locker room for all signs that they were alone. "Okay, so I was doing rounds over at the rehab center with Dr. Hassan this afternoon, and I saw Jeff Hardy." The younger woman flinched as Zoey grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder and across her body, but was undeterred as the older woman left with one final rake of her fingers through her hair. "I know you wanna act like it's unethical or whatever, but he asked about you," she hurried after her boss as Zoey pushed out of the back exit doors. "He wants to see you, Dr. Hamilton."

Heaving a sigh, Zoey turned on her heel just before she reached the parking lot. "You are not going to let this go, are you?" Keisha shook her head, a giggle escaping as though the situation were somehow remotely funny. "The doctor/patient rule is there for a reason, Keisha," she started, resting her weight on her hip as she stared the intern down. When would they realize that this was not a television drama? These were real people, with real lives. People who couldn't afford having their doctors running around like horny teenagers?

Nodding, Keisha tucked a group of tiny braids behind her ear and wrapped her arms around her middle, her expression sobering. "He's not technically your patient," she pointed out, just as she had every day since Jeff's release from the hospital ten days earlier. "It's stupid, ya know," she added when Zoey started to turn again. "I mean, you can't put a leash on fate. You can't just tell love that it can't happen because there's a fratrenization rule."

It was ridiculous, high school bull shit, and Zoey knew it. But the expression on Keisha's face said that she truly believed what she was saying. The most intense, focused, determined of her interns truly believed that love not only existed, but that it was the most important thing in the world. And, apparently, she also believed that Zoey was going to find it with some brainless wrestler who didn't have enough sense not to let someone hit him in the head with a chair.

Licking her lips, Zoey took inventory of the situation. She had a chance to head home, to soak in a bath and sleep in her real bed. She had the chance to watch some television, or read a book, or catch up on the multiple e-mails her mother had been sending her. And she was wasting her time on a pointless conversation in the parking lot with her intern. One that she didn't even like that much outside of her ability to perform a running whip stitch. "If I go check on him, will you please let it go?"

The squeal that came from Keisha's lips was enough to make Zoey cringe. The fact that the younger woman started bouncing up and down, clapping her hands was ten times worse. When she had composed herself a few seconds later, Keisha nodded and mimed a zipping motion with her fingers and lips. "Don't worry," she winked. "I won't tell a soul."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes again, Zoey looked across the emptying lot to the rehab center. It was well-passed visiting hours. Maybe she would get lucky and find Hardy asleep. Maybe she wouldn't have to talk to him at all. She could leave him a note. As she waved over her shoulder to Keisha and moved toward the other building, she thought about what she could say that would appease the persistent young man when he awoke in the morning.

Shaking her head, she pushed through the doors of the hospital's rehab facility and waved a hello to the receptionist. It wasn't the first time she'd ever been to visit a patient. Nobody had to think anything of this particular visit. It was just routine. Just checking in on a patient who had requested a consult with her. He could be having pain that he didn't feel comfortable discussing with his therapists for all she knew. It could be nothing at all.

By the time she rounded the corner to his room, she had convinced herself of that fact. Keisha was being stupid. Jeff didn't want anything from her other than medical advice. The fluttering in her heart was from rushing to the cafeteria for coffee before it closed, and Jeff only wanted her professional opinion. There was absolutely no reason to stand outside of his door, trying to check her reflection in the chrome gurney at her side.

"Dr. Hamilton!" Jeff exclaimed from his seat next to the window when she stepped into the doorway. With his bad leg elevated, he reclined in the lounger, his hands folded casually on his bare stomach as he rested his head against the window at his back. "I didn't think you'd make it," he smiled warmly.

Try as she might, Zoey couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from Jeff. His long locks had been hacked off to his chin, and the purple she had become accustomed to just a couple of weeks ago was now a deep red. Though he was perfectly decent in his basketball shorts, she had to tell herself not to look down them when he bent his good leg at the knee and licked his lips, seemingly unwilling to release her gaze.

She shouldn't have come. She shouldn't have tried to convince herself that she could keep this professional. There hadn't been a moment since he'd come into her hospital that she'd been able to have purely professional thoughts about Jeff Hardy. The only way to control the impulses was to stay away. Yet, here she was, subjecting herself to another round of 'what if."

_Get out, Zoey. Get out of the room. Just walk away. He can't say you didn't come visit. It was just a bad time. Go. Now. _"Alright," she waved her hand toward him and forced a half-smile. "So I just wanted to see how your therapy was going, but you're clearly feeling fine, so I will see you in a couple months. We'll clear you for action and you'll be back in the ring in no time." With another wave, she turned.

"Wait!" Jeff's voice was so panicked, she couldn't help turning back to see if he had fallen out of the chair or something. "You can't just go," he added, his eyes mirroring those of a wounded puppy.

She was still standing awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what came next. "Jeff, I don't think I should have come," she started before she realized that she was speaking.

He just shook his head and pulled himself out of the chair, hopping on one leg to the bed. He collapsed against the thin mattress, but not before Zoey noticed just how low his shorts sat on his hips, and just how chiseled his chest seemed to be. It hadn't been like during the surgery. At least she didn't think it had. Not that she had been noticing.

"Been waitin' for you for the last ten days," he smiled through the cringe as he lifted his leg onto the bed. "I'm glad you're here." With a subtle nod, he motioned for her to sit in the chair at his side. "Pizza?" he offered when she shut the door and moved to his side.

"I'm good," she declined the offer and watched in wonder as he took a huge bite of the pie in his hands. "I thought they kept you on a diet in this place," she raised an eyebrow.

Jeff grunted and wiped grease from the hair on his chin. "I'm just rehabbin' my knee, man. It's not like I had heart surgery or anything." Balling up the napkin, he dropped it to the dresser at his side and turned his attention to the brunette. At least, he thought she was a brunette. Maybe more of an ash blonde. Dishwater blonde? "You ever think about puttin' some pink streaks in your hair?" Pink would be a cute color for her.

The snort that escaped Zoey's nose was unexpected, even for her and she shook her head quickly in hopes of covering the snaffu. "Uh, no," she added emphatically. "Not too many people out there wanna be operated on by a doctor with pink hair."

Leaning back against the pillows, Jeff rested his folded hands on his chest again. "I don't know," he considered her with a critical eye. "I think some people would find it more comforting." When she rolled her eyes, he sat up a little straighter. "What? I would."

"Of course you would," she teased without thinking. "You jump off ladders for a living." When he shrugged and chuckled, as though he had no defense, Zoey felt the fire beginning to spread in her belly. "So, did the counselor that I talked to," she started and then snapped her mouth shut. How stupid could she really be? "I'm sorry, that's really none of my business."

But Jeff didn't mind. She could ask about the color of his piss and he would answer her. Anything to keep her sitting there for just a little while longer. Anything to keep Zoey in his line of vision one more time. "Nah," he shook his head and shifted his weight to his good leg, resting his cheek on his hand as he shot her another smile. He couldn't help it. She just made him smile. "She's been by three times so far. And as soon as Dr. Hassan says I'm good to walk on my own, they're gonna let me go down to a meeting that they have at some church down the street," he told her. "Be good to get around people again, ya know?"

Zoey nodded deftly, though she really didn't know. Addiction wasn't something she encountered every day, though she'd seen a couple of patients fake, or cause, injuries just to get a fix. Lifting her eyes to his face, she couldn't help wondering just what drove a guy like Jeff Hardy to the depths of substance abuse. He just didn't seem like the kind of guy who would get caught up in the extent of the activity listed in his files. "Can I ask you a question?"

The amused twinkle in his eyes disappeared at the tone of her voice. Clearly, she was going to get serious on him. But even though he knew the topic of conversation could get sticky, he wanted her to know. He wanted this woman to care about his life, beginning to present. He couldn't explain how he knew that she was someone he needed in his inner circle, he just knew. His gut had never led him astray in the past, and he'd be damned if he started doubting it now. "Sure."

She licked her lips and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "You're pretty successful in your field," she started. Saying too much would clue him in to the fact that she had done some research in the past couple of weeks, that she had taken an active interest in finding information on the Superstar they called everything from the Charismatic Enigma to the Rainbow-Haired Warrior. He didn't need to know that. Ever. "World on a string and all," she added with a soft smile as she studied the speckled pattern on the floor tiles. "Is your story different?"

He tilted his chin slightly and considered her question. "Different than?" he led, scooting slightly closer to the side of the bed. "Than the norm? Than the average famous dude who doesn't know how else to spend his money so he starts smokin' it?"

"Yeah," Zoey blushed slightly, raising her eyes to see him staring at her before returning her gaze to the floor. How did he do that? How did he continue to make her feel like an embarrassed junior high kid? He was younger than her, for God's sake. And he was a professional wrestler. Not a real athlete. Not a real actor. Just a wrestler. She was a surgeon. She had been through years of college and medical school. She was better than this, better than blushing under his scrutiny. "I mean, was that it? Fame?"

Jeff cleared his throat and watched her as she refused to meet his stare. She was ashamed of the question, he could tell. And more than his own discomfort in talking about the things that led to his issues, he wanted to soothe her. He wanted her to enjoy spending time with him, to want to visit more often. He only had a month more in Chicago, at most, and he intended on spending as much of it as she could spare with her. If only she would just relax and let him have his wish.

"Ya know how life seems to happen so fuckin' fast you can't really wrap your head around it sometimes?" Zoey gave a half-grunt of affirmation and nodded her head slowly as her eyes swept over the monitors at his bedside. "Shit happens when you're young sometimes, and you don't wanna deal, ya know? Push it aside until you feel like you can handle it. I don't know if it's conscious, but you just figure you'll have time to figure it out when you're older, when you know what the fuck is goin' on.

"So you push on. Just square your shoulders and you barrel through. Even though the shit never really goes away, you just ignore it in the back of your head. After 'while ya forget it, ya know?" Shaking his head, he stared at the ceiling and tried to calm his excellerated heart rate. He'd been over this a thousand times in therapy. Why was it so much harder now? With her? "Not really, but you don't think as much. Keep tellin' yourself you'll deal later."

"And then later is now," Zoey interrupted, her voice distant, her eyes fixed on the stars that dotted the night sky outside his window. He nodded and pushed himself into a fully-seated position with a groan. "You okay?"

He nodded and held out a hand. "Just stiff," he responded, reaching toward the table, his fingers just short of the water glass. The lightning bolt that shot through his arm when she grabbed it and held it to him, when their fingers brushed against the sweating, plastic cup, caused Jeff to smile in spite of himself. "Thanks."

Zoey just nodded and grabbed her chair, pulling it closer enough to rest her feet on the edge of Jeff's bed before settling in and watching for him to continue. She wished that she could be concerned about the stiffening in his leg, but that was normal. So were all of his monitors. There was nothing to concentrate on but Jeff Hardy. And she found herself scared to hear what he had to say next. "So it was your way of dealin' with shit?"

"Sort of," Jeff finally said with a slight gasp as the ice water trickled down his throat and filled him with a refreshing chill against the heat her touch had ignited. "I wasn't exactly normal growing up," he admitted, laughing when her eyebrow shot up at the statement. "I mean, I played baseball and basketball. I did alright in school, had girlfriends. Everything normal kids do. But me and Matty were dreaming of being wrestlers.

"And back then, it seemed like it would never happen, ya know? It was this crazy, freaky dream that should have stopped when we were about twelve." She huffed and Jeff could tell that she agreed. "But it was my out. I didn't have to think about any of the other bull shit when I was out there in the ring. I was just a character, and I was flying. I was free," he stopped and shook his head before taking another drink. "I threw myself into that. I loved that feeling. Just like you're totally alive and nothing can stop you. Even when you're gettin' your ass kicked, you're not yourself so it doesn't matter. It's just this rush, ya know?"

Zoey nodded and reached behind her to the cooler someone had left at the side of his bed. Twisting off the top of the soda bottle, she took a drink of her own and stretched her legs, her ankled crossed atop the mattress at his side, her elbows resting comfortably on the arms of the chairs. She decided in that moment that she could listen to him speak for hours and never get bored. The gentle, Southern cadence of his voice was beautiful, symphonic. "But it doesn't last?"

He shook his head again, his expression sad as he studied his bandaged knee and spoke from somewhere further away. "My whole life has played out in fast forward, ya know? One minute, I'm just a kid with no problems. The next, I'm seven with no mom." Zoey gasped. "You didn't know? Pretty sure that was in the file," he smiled softly, reaching over to touch her foot.

Shaking her head, Zoey tried to remember reading that particular information. She was sure that she had, but she couldn't recall at the moment. "I don't," she started, but then licked her lips and took another drink. "Go on," she encouraged, wanting nothing more than to hear his voice again.

"So shit moves in fast forward, right?" Jeff watched her eyes, clouded with nothing but concern for the little boy he had described, and forgot what he'd been talking about. There was something there, something in her expression, that seemed more important than anything else in the world. "One minute, I'm Willow the Wisp on a trampoline in my backyard, and the next, I'm part of Team Extreme on a ladder in the fuckin' WWE. And for awhile, there's nothing better than the roar of 40,000 people chanting your name in unison."

Zoey watched the darkness cloud his features. She knew that she had asked for this, but she regretted it then. In fact, she would have given anything to run the tape back to her arrival, to just make pleasant conversation with a cool guy and go home. She didn't want to cause him pain. She didn't want to see that guilty expression on his face. Hell, why didn't she? Wasn't she supposed to be holding the professional line? Why was she, in less than an hour, completely invested in him?

Maybe it was the way his nose scrunched up and his head bobbed as he whispered "Har-dy, Har-dy" to himself, as though he could hear the crowd in his head. Maybe it was the way he tapped the rhythm on his knee in time to the words. Maybe it was the way his lip caught between his teeth as he shook himself free of the memory. Maybe it was the way his fire-engine locks fell over his face and still couldn't obstruct the clarity of his hazel eyes. Maybe it was the way his hand still rested on her foot, gently massaging the sole as it rested nonchalantly on her flip-flop. _Maybe it's just him._

Straightening a bit, she scolded herself for the thought. "But it's not enough after awhile," she urged him to go on, afraid to admit how close to home his words were hitting. "Knowing that people adore you. Admire you. You need more."

For a brief moment, Jeff cast a glance to the woman at his side. Was she trying to tell him something? He would have to remember to ask at some point. "My life was always about moving forward, leaving all that shit from the way back as far behind me as I could. In junior high, I couldn't wait to get to high school. Once I was in high school, it was about the next baseball game, or the next wrestling match. After I graduated, it was about getting that contract, about being big time, ya know? Then I got to the big time," he stopped and sighed, shifting his eyes from her foot to her face. "There was nowhere else to go. Didn't know what came next."

"And the shit caught up," she interjected, leaning back to run her fingers through her hair before sipping at her soda. "You couldn't run forever."

Jeff nodded. "Couldn't run. So I tried to hide. Can't hide from management, though," he grunted again, a half-chuckling sound of cynicism. "Got fired, disappeared for awhile. Tried with another company, thought it might be different, but I was fucked up at that point. When I finally stopped running, finally faced some shit," he shook his head and tucked a strand of hair behind his hear. "Didn't wanna be an addict, but I couldn't resist the high."

Zoey nodded, a small smile forming on her lips when he gave her that 'little boy' face. The one that said he knew she wasn't going to approve, but he couldn't stop himself. The one that screamed 'You know I'm too cute to be mad for too long'. "So you came back to the natural high."

"Exactly," Jeff confirmed, a full-blown smile breaking across his face. "And it's been the best time of my life. For the first time, I'm not trying to escape anything. Just flyin' for the sake of flyin'."

Retracting her feet from the bed, Zoey leaned forward in the chair, she returned the smile. "I get that," she admitted, her lips pursed when his eyes lit up. "Not the part where you jump off shit and try not to kill yourself," she corrected. "But the flying thing."

"So what's your story?" Jeff asked suddenly, patting the side of the bed as though he expected her to join him.

Zoey considered him thoughtfully and shook her head. "Not much of a story. Decided to become a doctor when my dad had brain surgery. Made it through college, grad school, and med school without much trouble, or much of a social life. Threw myself into my internship and failed my intern exams at the end of the year." She put a hand out when Jeff started to offer some words of comfort. "Had a little bit of a personal crisis, started thinking maybe I wasn't cut out for this. I was supposed to be the star student, and I failed.

"Everywhere I went, people looked at me with that sad, little 'I thought you were better than that' look - at least, I thought they did. I wanted to quit - nearly did. And then Dr. Isaacs called me and invited me here. He told me that I could repeat my internship. Kinda like a do-over," she smiled at the thought of the memory. "I barely got off the phone before I started packing my bags. Passed the second exam at the top of the pile and started my residency here. And I love my life. Wouldn't change a thing about it."

When Jeff swung his legs over the side of the bed, brushing against hers with his own, she looked up through thick lashes at his soft expression. "Nothing?"

Swallowing down every romance-novel thing she wanted to say, she just stared into the intense gaze meeting hers. "Jeff," she whispered when he reached for her hands and drew them onto his legs. "I can't."

But he just shook his head. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but he wasn't one to ignore signs. And all of the signs were pointing to the fact that there was a connection between himself and Dr. Zoey Hamilton. There had been from the moment she had walked into his room two weeks earlier. It was undeniable, and he wasn't about to let her pretend that it wasn't palpable in the air.

She watched deftly as his hands covered hers and guided them up and down his legs. The contrast of the soft hairs on one, and the heavy bandages on the other, mesmerized her. The heat from his skin, yet the goose bumps that resulted from the trail of her touch, made her blush. Like a kid. Like someone who wasn't used to touching a man. Like someone who had shut out human relationships in favor of saving human lives. Without realizing it, her fingers curled beneath his hands, her fingernails raking over his flesh, savoring the feeling of them.

"I could lose my job," she muttered under her breath as her eyes trailed over his thighs and up his abdomen. Over his chest, she dragged her gaze, as if trying to remember every part of him. "I don't wanna lose my job," she spoke, reminding herself more than him.

Cupping her cheek in his hand, Jeff drew her eyes to his face, staring down at pained expression. "I don't wanna lose you," he matched her tone, smirking slightly when she shot him a look of shock. He slid a hand to the back of her neck and ran a thumb from the back of her ear, down the slope of her neck, his eyes darting from her eyes to her lips and back again. "Got a deal for ya," he nodded, noting that she mimicked his head bob slowly, seemingly hypnotized by his touch on her skin.

_You need to leave, Zoey. This can't end well. He's going home, for God's sake! He will leave you alone and crying. _Though the screaming assaulted her brain, Zoey couldn't bring herself to listen to the words. She knew it was wrong, and she knew that it would never work. She was opening herself up for a world of hurt, risking getting too close to someone she would never see again. She knew, but she couldn't seem to comprehend it. "Kay," she agreed, licking her lips when his eyes darted to them again.

"I'm outta here in three weeks," Jeff spoke conspiritorally, his smile dancing in his eyes. "You come hang out with me when you get a chance between now and then. If I'm right, if we're totally meant for each other," he winked and swelled with pride when she averted her eyes and blushed before returning her hazel orbs to his, "then we'll exchange numbers and keep talkin' while I do my rehab at home," he stated.

"And?" Zoey asked without thinking. And? What was she thinking. _You should have just asked him if lavender was okay for the bridesmaids dresses, Zo. Way to jump the gun. _"I mean," she stammered, but stopped protesting when his fingers slowly moved at the base of her neck.

Jeff leaned forward, his body folded nearly in half as his forehead came to rest against her, his hands sweeping over her shoulders and gripping her upper arms as he continued to beam. "You're my surgeon. You have to clear me for action in a few months, which means that I have to come back here for one final pass at this whole annoying doctor/patient thing. Once you've done that, I'll take you to dinner."

She was smart. A doctor, even. Surgeon. Focused. Disciplined. "Like a date?" _And, apparently, completely inept at interpersonal relations_, she scolded herself harshly, wishing like hell he hadn't pinned her arms to her sides, so that she could smack herself in the forehead. "Fuck," she breathed, causing Jeff to sit back on his bed and fold his hands in his lap with a shrug, his legs still cradling hers.

"IF," he held up a finger and looked around the room, "you keep coming to visit me," he reminded her of the first part of the deal. "Zoey, I know you've got a million reasons not to," he started.

But Zoey was the one to interrupt this time, raising from her chair and planting her hands on his shoulders and stepping between his open knees. Sliding her arms around his neck, she shook her head and wondered where her forwardness was coming from. "I've never been much of a rebel, Mr. Hardy," she grinned playfully. "I'm not good at breaking the rules. I get paranoid and freak out."

He ran his fingers up the backs of her thighs, over her backside, and up her spine, returning her smile when she shivered. "I'll keep you calm," he promised with a wink as his hands started back down their path again.

Sucking a deep breath through her teeth, Zoey shook her head and stepped back from his embrace. "Not if you keep doin' that," she scolded, raking her fingers through her hair and checking her watch. "Alright, I gotta get home and try to get some sleep." She ran through her schedule, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and then looked back at Jeff. "I gotta be back here for surgery at ten in the morning," she told him. "I'm on call for 48 hours after that, but I'll have some down time tomorrow night, I think. That work for you?"

"Let me check my schedule," Jeff smiled, swinging his legs back to the bed and settling in against the pillows. "Yeah, I'm free." When she crossed back to the bed and leaned over him to drop a kiss on his cheek, he grabbed her chin and turned his head, his lips meeting hers.

Had she not been holding on to the guard rail, Zoey was sure she would have fallen to the ground. He took her bottom lip between his, applying the slightlest bit of pressure, running his soft tongue over the flesh briefly before releasing her and running his thumb down her cheek again.

Forcing herself to push back, Zoey fought the blush, but she knew it was a losing battle. The coy smile she offered was childish, she knew, but she couldn't stop it. Even if she had wanted to try to stop it, she couldn't have. "Alright, I'm going. See you tomorrow night, Mr. Hardy," she waved when she was out of arms' reach.

He closed his eyes and turned his face to the ceiling as she approached the door. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Hamilton."

_We have rules in surgery. Rules that are supposed to protect the patient, and the doctor. Most of us cling to these rules, as if they're carved into some holy stones. We treat them as our road map, assuming that, as long as we follow every direction to the most minute detail, that we will arrive at a successful destination. But we don't often remember, or take into account, the fact that we are only humans, dealing with humans. The human body reacts in ways that we don't expect it to, And we have to improvise. We throw caution to the wind, make decisions on the fly, and pray for the best. As surgeons, we constantly talk about how life is our business, saving lives and changing them. But life isn't text book. It's messy. And sometimes, the best times, it simply doesn't follow the rules._


	5. Chapter 5

**With a Broken Wing**

A/N: What is this? I'm actually finishing a story? Who knew? Well, I know that a lot of people liked this one, and I did, too. I just had some trouble with the motivation. Hopefully you will all find this a satisfying conclusion to the Zoey/Jeff saga. :) Oh, and the quote from Jeff's friend was kinda stolen from _One Tree Hill_. Enjoy!

* * *

_One of my favorite quotes, and the one that I have painted onto my bedroom mirror as a reminder before leaving for work each day is by Thomas H. Huxley: The great tragedy of Science - the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact. Most of us enter medical school with delusions of grandeur - with the belief that we can save the world through science. If we didn't believe it, we really wouldn't have any business picking up a scalpel in the first place._

_We can hypothesize a million different ways to save a patient. We can plot out the perfect procedure or treatment plan, and on paper, we can save the world. But the startling truth, the one that is so hard to come to terms with, is that sometimes the facts are ugly. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, a patient can't be saved. No matter how much work you put into the pre-op, no matter how many ways you want to believe that it will work out, the ugly fact is that sometimes it doesn't. Because it can't. _

"How are we doing this morning, Dr. Hamilton?"

Resting her elbows against the counter at the nurse's station, Zoey accepted the folder that Keisha offered her and flipped it open. "Windin' down, Dr. Isaacs," she smiled at her mentor and signed off on the chart before handing it back to her intern. "Just a couple more patients to see, and I'm off to sleep for about three days."

There was nothing Zoey loved more than being in the operating room. Even when she was at her most tired, someone always seemed to sneak in and remind her of just why she chose this path for her life. She felt alive when she saw their smiles, and even when things didn't go quite the way she would have liked, she found an exhileration in the constant learning process that her career provided. She knew, if given a choice, she wouldn't have changed anything about her life.

But even she, though she sometimes believed she was superwoman, had to admit that she was only human. Sleep was a necessity, whether she liked it or not. Forty-two hours into her forty-eight hour shift, she was ready to find a bunk and crash. Two extensive surgeries had taken their toll on her brain for the day and she knew that she wasn't going to be any good for much longer. Six hours. She just had to make it through six more hours and she could go home and fall into her brand-new Sleep Comfort mattress. She could tune the world out in just a few more hours.

Nudging her shoulder, Dr. Isaacs winked when Zoey met his eye. "Well, if you find the energy, I'm removing a medulloblastoma at ten. I'd be happy to have you scrub in."

Against all protest from the rest of her body, Zoey felt her heart speed up. A brain tumor. It was moments like this that she craved, moments when the odds were stacked against them. When common sense said that the patient shouldn't even survive to the operating table. When the family stood by with hope in their eyes and doubt in their hearts. When the possibility of defying the odds her entire career worthwhile. "I would love to," she started to say.

But Keisha stood from behind the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "Dr. Hamilton isn't available at ten," she informed the attending. "She has an important consultation this morning."

She wasn't known for her flaring temper, but Zoey could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up when Keisha inserted herself into the situation. "Dr. Carpenter?" she questioned, her eyebrow raising of it's own accord. "Do you wanna be serving little paper cups of water to piss test patients for the rest of your residency?" she asked through gritted teeth.

There was a slight satisfaction in Zoey's chest when Keisha took a step back, her head shaking ever-so-subtly. "No, ma'am," she answered, her voice breaking just slightly. "But as Jeff Hardy's surgeon," she spoke the name with even more hesitation, "protocol requires that you be the one to clear him for ring-action. To release him back to work," she finished hurriedly and cringed, though Zoey couldn't help thinking she looked a little too smug for her own good.

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Isaacs patted Zoey's shoulder. "There'll be other surgeries, Zo," he spoke as a father comforting his crestfallen daughter, but there was no mistaking the slight chuckle under his words.

Narrowing her eyes, Zoey shot a look from one of them to the other. "Oh, I really don't like either of you."

* * *

"T minus thirty minutes and counting," Zoey whispered to herself as she accepted the chart from Ty at the nurse's station and proceeded to the examination room, where her final patient of the day was waiting. As she passed by the far window of the room, she could see that he had already arrived, flanked once again by a cadre of men in polo shirts. Good. There was safety in numbers.

It wasn't that Zoey hadn't been looking forward to seeing Jeff again. In fact, after three months of not seeing him at all, she had woken up with a slight spring in her step the day before. She had even worn her pink thermal shirt under her scrubs, knowing that it was his favorite color on her. She had been excited.

Until she remembered that she had been avoiding him for the last month. That they weren't right for each other. That he was going to expect something from her that she wasn't ready to give him. Stopping at the door of the room, she took her time studying his chart, taking in the information, or at least pretending to. In reality, she was gathering her cool - calming her heartbeat. She couldn't avoid it, short of being on the operating table herself. She was trapped. Like a rat.

_'Fuck_,' she thought to herself as she rounded the corner and shook hands with a few of the older men at the foot of the bed. "Good morning, gentlemen," she spoke in her most authoritative tone, hoping that her voice wasn't cracking as much to them as it was to her. "Mr. Hardy, how are we feeling?" she asked, looking over his knee without meeting his gaze, even though she could feel it boring into the top of her head.

"Guys," Jeff spoke to the men at his sides. "Can you give us a minute?"

Zoey shook her hair vigorously and swallowed her nerves. "No, it's fine. They can be here for this," she assured her patient, her hand gingerly touching the tight skin stretched over his knee cap.

But Jeff just chuckled knowingly. "No, they can't," he spoke even more firmly than his doctor had. The men dissipated without another word and Jeff straightened his posture on the bed, cause Zoey to rip her hand away from his skin, as if burned. She moved her eyes to the monitors beside the bed, even though he wasn't hooked up to any of them. "You haven't returned a call in over a month, Zo," he said, far more seriously than she remembered him sounding before.

Shaking her head, she regained her composure and laid her hand flat against his thigh, just above his knee, motioning for him to move it. "I've been busy with work," she muttered under her breath, repeating the motion in case he hadn't seen it.

It wasn't that Jeff hadn't seen her hand moving, he just didn't care. He had come to get cleared for action, but that wasn't why he'd been packed for this trip to Chicago for more than a week. That wasn't why he'd been giddy and giggly for the last two days. That wasn't why he was looking forward to walking into the hospital today. Not even close. "I know avoidance when I see it," he said, beginning to reach for her shoulder. She was so close, within a hand's reach.

This is what they had talked about for the three weeks he had stayed in Chicago after their first kiss. This was the moment they had both fantasized about for the three months he had been back home in North Carolina. This was when they were supposed to declare their love for each other, and she couldn't even look at him. What was wrong with her?

"Bend this," Zoey commanded, her hand cupping his knee cap as she tried to force the motion herself. If he wasn't going to comply, she would do it for him. Wouldn't be the first time a difficult patient made her do most of the work.

But Jeff just shook his head. As far as he was concerned, he had the upper hand. How was she going to complete her report without any cooperation? "Not until you talk to me."

Throwing her arms into the air, Zoey rolled her eyes, letting the frustration rush over her. She wasn't so much frustrated with Jeff, just with the fact that she wanted to get done and go home, and he was making it impossible. "Stop being such a fucking child, Jeff," she scolded in a tone that she hadn't used on him in what felt like a lifetime. She could still remember clearly the discussion that had drawn such a response from her lips the first time, and she would be just as happy to never have to think of it again.

"I'm not the one who doesn't wanna discuss things like two adults," he swung his legs over the side of the bed and attempted to trap her between his thighs, but she evaded him easily, crossing the room to hang a new X-ray of his knee for examination.

With a huff, she spoke matter-of-factly, hoping that she convince both Jeff and herself that she meant the words she was saying. "What's the point? I mean, really? Do you honestly think that you and I stand a chance of being anything? Beyond doctor and patient? Really?"

"I do."

Spinning on her heel, Zoey couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips. Was he completely mental? Did he not realize how hard it would be? "How?" she asked incredulously, as though it were the most absurd thing she had ever heard. "You travel all over the world. ALL of the time. I'm working a hundred hours a week. We both have all-consuming jobs. We don't have time to be together, Jeff."

It was as if everything she'd been struggling with for the last few weeks came tumbling out without warning. They could barely find the time to talk on the phone for more than five minutes. When he was at home, she was at the hospital. When he went back out on the road, she finally got some time off. When he was going to bed for the night, she was already sound asleep, or getting ready to start her day. They were complete opposites.

"We make time," Jeff said with a shrug, leaning his weight against the bed behind him, one ankle crossed over the other. It wasn't that big of a deal. Guys did it all the time. Why did she have to be so difficult about everything.

Because that's who she was. Zoey was difficult. She analyzed, and over-analyzed everything. There was no such thing as 'face value' with her. She was a doctor, for God's sake. She couldn't just accept things without knowing why or how or what they could do to fix it. Her brain didn't work that way.

"I think it's sweet," she conceded, finally turning to face him, their eyes really meeting for the first time. It shot a pain through Zoey's heart. She liked him. A lot. She wanted him. More than she liked him sometimes. "I love that you think it might work, Jeff. In theory, maybe. But long-distance relationships are fucking hard. The chances of it actually working? Practically impossible."

He watched her carefully, seeing clearly the emotions with which she was warring as she leaned against the wall and nearly mimicked his stance. It was one of his favorite things about Zoey. She tried so hard to be stoic, but it just wasn't her style. The warring emotions just beneath the surface, the ones she thought nobody knew were there? They tugged at his heart. That was the girl he wanted to be with - the one who had visited him in his rehab room - the one who had talked to him on the phone. The one he could see fighting for the chance to escape right now.

"Ya know, I used to have this friend," he said suddenly. "She used to say that every song ends, ya know? But it's no reason not to enjoy the music." Most people thought he was cryptic, and Zoey had laughed at the random nature of his statements from time to time, but he could tell that she got his meaning. It was there, in her big eyes as they filled with conflict. The look of someone who realized there was no more point in fighting.

She sighed. "That's really deep," she acknowledge before spinning back to the X-ray. "It's also total bull shit." Why did he always do that? Think that some poetic thought was going to be enough to change her mind? Didn't he know her at all? Hadn't he learned anything in the last few months?

Jeff was dumbfounded. "How can you say that? It's beautiful. It's lyrical," he defended.

"It is," she agreed. "But it totally doesn't apply to this situation at all."

His arms flew out to the sides without warning. "What? How does it not apply?" He hadn't come to fight with her, but that's what they were doing. This wasn't a disagreement, it was a fight. At least, that's how it felt to Jeff.

For her part, Zoey couldn't understand how anyone would not see the weakness in Jeff's illustration. Turning on her heels, she gestured wildly as she poked it full of holes. "Because you listen to a song, it ends, and you hit 'repeat' and listen to it again. And song never really ends, unless you accidentally delete it from your iPod, and even then you can just download it again." Her face twisted with the stupidity of it all. "It's a horrible analogy for a relationship."

"Wow," Jeff lowered his arms and rested his hands against his trim hips. "You really know how to suck the romance right out of a moment, don't you?"

Zoey shrugged and flicked the light on the X-ray viewer, satisfied with what she saw there. "Yeah, well, you have a way of sticking it in the most inappropriate moment," she shot back.

Though the obvious response flitted through Jeff's head, he swallowed the joke and twisted his head toward the end of the bed to watch her. "Stop it," he finally stated when she flipped the same two pages of the chart for the third time. "Just stop it, Zoey," he whispered as he came to stand behind her and rest his hands on her hips.

His breath grazed her ear as his hand ran up her spine and back down. When his lips met her neck, she felt her entire body go rigid. "Jesus, Jeff," she whispered, praying to God that she could gather the strength to push him away. Her body was not helping her prove her point.

"You feel that?" he whispered against her ear.

Surrendering to the feeling of his fingers against the skin just beneath the hem of her shirt, Zoey let her head fall back onto Jeff's shoulder. "Of course I feel it," she finally answered as he continued to press soft, firm kisses against the skin behind her ear and down the curve of her neck. "I like you a lot, Jeff," she admitted. "I just don't see how it's a well-considered decision."

His confidence surging, Jeff grabbed Zoey's hand and began to pull her toward the door. "Come with me," he instructed.

"Jeff, I need to finish my examination," she began to protest, but he wasn't hearing it as he dragged her to the end of the secluded hallway.

Stopping in front of a window, Jeff nodded to the patient inside. An older gentleman laid out flat on the bed, monitors beeping in the silence of his solitary room. "That's Jack," he pointed to the man. "I met him at one of my meetings," he explained. "And he's dying, Zoey." He paused, eyes glued to the man who reacted to nothing, as though he had no idea they were watching him.

Zoey was more interested in watching Jeff. What was he doing? Was he trying to relate their situation to something she could understand? Was he trying to make his point on her level? It was as touching as it was intriguing to her as she allowed her gaze to drift back to Jeff's focal point.

"Doctors have given him every possible option for treatment, ya know? Everything that might possibly help him get better." He shook his blue locks and rested his forehead against the glass. "But he's rejecting all of them. Says he'd rather die than go through all the side effects of the treatments. The pain. The discomfort. Not worth it, he says."

"Jeff," Zoey tried to interrupt.

But Jeff wasn't done making his point. "Zoey, you can't tell me that, as a doctor, you would encourage him to bypass treatment. In favor of certain pain and inevitable death?" He raised an eyebrow and she raised one right back at him, a challenge for him to keep trying to convince her that he was right. "As a medical professional, you know that you have to believe in the possibility of recovery."

"Jeff!" Zoey rested her hand on Jeff's cheek until he stopped speaking, a smile twitching on the corner of her lip as she nodded to the window. "That man's name is Bob Whitman. He's recovering from donating a kidney to his daughter this morning. He's not dying. In fact, he's healthier than most men half his age," she added.

Jeff's shoulders fell. He should have known better than to make up a story about someone on her floor, in her hallway. That was it. He was out of ideas. Out of convincing. He was losing her before he ever really had her. "Oh," was all he could manage to say as he stared at the floor in defeat.

That was all he had? Zoey was just warming up to the object lessons of Jeff Hardy. It was kind of disappointing to think that his well ran dry so quickly. "Jeff," she whispered, her hand on his shoulder. "I know what you're saying, okay? I get the point."

She did. He was trying to tell her that avoiding a relationship with him just because it MIGHT not work was insane, that it wasn't even an option. Or that it shouldn't be. She got that. But she just couldn't bear the thought of falling for him, and then realizing that they couldn't make it work because they hated each other. Or, worse yet, because they loved each other too much to keep up with the torture. She hadn't had a wealth of relationships in her past, but she'd seen other people suffer through horrible break-ups when they should have known better than to get involved with some guy who was completely wrong for them in the first place.

Arriving back at Jeff's exam room, Zoey leaned against the bed and stared into his eyes. He was so sure. She could see it staring back at her. This was what he wanted. He wanted to try with her. Even if it didn't work. Even if they couldn't make it work, he wanted to try. "Why?" was all she could manage to ask through the lump forming in her throat. Sometimes she forgot just how sincerely beautiful he could be. "What's the point?"

Taking a step forward, he twisted his fingers together like a nervous child and half-shrugged his shoulders. "You gave me three options when you figured out what was wrong with my knee, right? Gave me the pros and cons and you let me weigh those out and make a decision. There were no guarantees, Zoey. You couldn't give me any, and that was okay. I picked the one that worked best for me.

"So the way I see it, we got two choices. Either we give this thing a shot or we don't. I weigh the pros and cons of those options. Except," he held up a finger and took another step, his confidence building and shining through his easy smile and his posture, "there is a guarantee here. I mean, I can't guarantee you that things are gonna work out and we're gonna live happily-ever-after if we go with the option where we give it a shot. But if we don't? Then we're definitely never gonna know what might have been.

"I don't live with might-have-beens." He shrugged and stopped before her, his hands rested on the bed behind her. "Zoey, if I worried about what might happen, I'd never jump off a ladder. I'd never run on a guard rail or take a chair shot."

With a near-smile, Zoey looked over Jeff's shoulder. "Maybe you should worry more," she mumbled in a pout of disapproval.

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he drew her gaze back to his face. "If I worried, I wouldn't take the chances. And if I didn't take the chances, I wouldn't feel the rush. I wouldn't know what it feels like to fly," he whispered against her ear again, his nose buried in the side of her apple-scented hair.

_I wanna fly_, she thought to herself and then blinked her eyes, pushing Jeff away. Where had that come from? And why did she not hate herself for thinking it? Damn, Jeff Hardy was not at all unconvincing. "Okay," she sighed heavily, moving to the end of the bed and signing her name a few times before tossing the chart back onto the bed. "You are officially cleared to wrestle, Mr. Hardy," she nodded to the chart.

But Jeff couldn't have cared less about the wrestling at the moment. He didn't give a flying fuck what his doctor had to say. He needed to know what his girlfriend, possible girlfriend, whatever, was thinking. "Zoey," he started.

But she just walked to him and pushed him back against the bed until he rested in a casually seated position. "I want to make something clear, okay?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched his hazel eyes watching her intently. "I am not your doctor anymore. So what I'm about to say is not coming from a medical professional." When he nodded, she stepped forward and rested her hands on either side of his stubbly face. "If you end up in here again? I will kill you myself."

Jeff made no promises. He couldn't. He wasn't going to stop doing what he did any more than she was. But he didn't have time to let her know that before Zoey smashed her lips against his. His hands found her back without a second thought and in his mind, he blessed the day he had busted his knee in the ring.

"You have a match to go get ready for," Zoey finally reminded him when she came up for air. "I was thinkin' I might come watch, if that's okay?" Jeff's expression was skeptical. He knew she hated it, but Zoey just shrugged and offered him a hand. "Well, I'm off duty. Got nothin' better to do," she smiled when he stood and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "And if we're gonna do this thing, I guess I should get used to watchin' you take stupid chances."

"Hey," Jeff said happily, "if you're really lucky, I might just teach you how to do a Swanton," he offered. Zoey just rolled her eyes and shut him up in the only way she could think of in that moment. She pressed her lips to his and threw her arms around his neck, not really caring for the first time if anybody walked past the window. Why should she care? She wasn't his doctor anymore.

_William Shakespear said that 'our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.' Am I one hundred percent that being with Jeff Hardy is the smartest thing I've ever done? Nope. But ya know what? He was right that day in the hallway- a surgeon, and any other human being, is only as strong as their ability to believe in the possibility of recovery, as our ability to hope. And, as he so aptly points out to me on a regular basis - you never know if you're gonna break your neck until you've already jumped off the ladder anyway. Yeah, I know. It's a damn good thing he's so fucking hot.._


End file.
